Sink Into Me
by PassOut
Summary: A year ago, if someone told me that one day I'll be in an arena acting on Finnick Odair's advice, I would've glared the living daylights out of them. Now, standing on a metal plate about to fight to the death, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.
1. If You See Something, Say Something

He's staring at me. Again.

This has got to be the fourth time in three days that I caught those blue eyes trained at me.

Though his face remained relatively emotionless, his eyes were reflecting his thoughts, like he's making a decision of some sort. By the looks of it, he's probably not going to drop his gaze anytime soon.

So I hold his stare.

However, Peeta pulls me out of my focus as he nudges my arm. I forgot I was talking to him. How rude of me.

"Huh?" I ask as I turn to face him. "What did you say?"

"I said, what do you think?" Peeta says, holding up his camouflaged arm. I look at the design more critically. Light and dark patterns here and there, suggesting sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods.

"It looks.. very believable. You're really good at this." I tell him, willing myself to bring my attention back to our task.

"Thanks. I do the cakes at home." He tells me. "Why so jumpy today? Is there something wrong?"

_Except for the fact that we're going to be thrown in an arena full of bloodthirsty kids in three days, everything's peachy._ "Nothing. It's just.. nerves."

_That, and the guy over the spear throwing station that's boring holes in my back._

"Can't blame you. The Careers really are trying to intimidate everybody else." He shrugs, adding some final touches to his work."There. All done."

The trainer complimented Peeta's work, saying he's got talent with painting. Flattered, Peeta tells him how he used to ice their cakes back home. The trainer seems to be genuinely fond of him.

They talked some more, so I let my eyes wander a bit. They land right back to the boy from District Two, who apparently didn't refrain from watching me. As my eyes meet his for the second time today, he does something totally unexpected.

He winked at me.

* * *

_What the hell?_ That was all I could think of as we made our way to the dining hall. He was probably just doing it to unnerve me, to get inside my head. _But why? Am I so much of a threat? Or am I just that entertaining to intimidate?_

I put my tray down, Peeta taking the seat across me. He's actually nice to have around. Funny, polite, and a very good conversationalist. I don't usually speak a lot, but somehow he gets me to talk: about school, Prim's grouchy old cat Buttercup, even Gale.

I was halfway into telling him about this time when I challenged a bear over the rights to a beehive when we heard boisterous laughter coming from the Careers' table. Almost everybody turns to look at them. It seems the bronze-haired boy from District One is telling a _very_ funny story.

"Nothing ever changes, you know." Peeta sighs, taking a bite of his bread.

"What do you mean?" I ask him, puzzled.

"This.. social pyramid we all seem to be in. There's always the popular kids and the underdogs." He says as he places his fork and knife in the four o'clock position in his plate. "Wherever we go, it's just the same."

Now I get what he's saying. This is just like school, back in District Twelve. Seam kids stick amongst themselves, just as the Town kids do. That's why my friendship with Madge Undersee is rather uncommon. But then, she isn't a snob like most of the Town girls are. You'd expect her to be, being the mayor's daughter and all, but she's okay. We end up together a lot at school, even if we rarely talk. It suits us both just fine, though.

I push the rest of my salad around my plate, the pink tomatoes all soggy from my stabbing. "Yeah, but aren't you a part of the 'In Crowd' back at school?"

The expression on his face made me realize how blunt I've been. I almost wince. "I'm in it, but not exactly a part of it. I mean, they're my friends, yes, but I don't get it when they bully kids from the Seam. I think it's stupid." He tells me.

"Why didn't you stop them, then?" To hell with my bluntness. I'm hopeless.

"I don't know. Social survival, I guess. Besides they're not gonna listen to me anyway. Believe me, I tried." He says lightly with a smile.

I let the topic drop. As much as I'd like to know more about the boy with the bread, I know I shouldn't. Not when the possibility of having to kill each other is looming above our heads. I look away from him, scanning the other tributes with feigned interest. Most of them were sitting alone, most notably the little girl from Eleven. Occupying a big Mahogany table all by her lonesome, she looks smaller than ever. She reminds me so much of Prim.

So before I do something stupid like cry, I take my eyes off her, which it turns out is an equally stupid move because now my gaze lands on the Careers. On the boy from District Two, more specifically. He's seated between the girls of One and Two, with District One Blondie practically on his lap. It made me lose my appetite more, if possible.

He probably sensed someone's watching him because suddenly, he looks up, those stormy blue eyes finding their way to meet mine. Blondie leans to whisper in his ear, clearly intent on making him turn his attention back to her. He doesn't drop his gaze, though. He intensely stared at me while answering Blondie, only breaking away after he finished talking.

I just roll my eyes and made a move to stand up, letting go of a breath I wasn't aware of holding. "Let's go. It's getting too _stuffy_ in here."

Peeta takes one last swig from his Mango juice before standing up, completely oblivious to my staring contest with District Two just moments ago. "All right."

We make our way through the tables, handing our trays to the Avoxes lingering near the blue double doors. Just before I'm completely out of the dining hall, I see District One Blondie throw me a seething glare.

I guess it's true what they say about the Careers. They really never miss a thing.

* * *

It's the last day of training. Well, half a day, since the Gamemakers will begin calling us one by one after lunch. District by district, the boy first, then the girl. In short, I'm the last one to go. _How exciting._

Since it's our last chance to practice before we face our imminent death, Peeta and I agreed to go for some weapons today. We were throwing spears when a knife suddenly stuck right at my dummy's chest. _Three guesses on who probably threw it._

I look to my far left and my suspicion's confirmed. The Careers are snickering at me, the girls from One and Two the loudest.

Something tells me Blondie and Knife Girl had a nice chitchat about my little exchange with their team leader yesterday.

"Oh, sorry Twelve. Didn't realize you were actually aiming for that one." Says the girl from Two rather roguishly. She was a good 30 feet away from me, and that throw would've been pretty impressive if it wasn't downright frightening.

As much as I hate to say it, she's better at this than me, but that doesn't mean she can just stomp on me like that. I do what I can to learn here, but she's making it look like this is all fun and games. And for them, it apparently is.

"Just ignore them, Katniss. Come on. It's lunchtime anyway." While it's nice of Peeta to try and calm me down, I couldn't care less. I'm way too pissed.

Peeta starts to lead me away from the weapons station when my eyes caught a familiar sight: the splendid, delicate curve of a bow. Wait, no. A table _full_ of bows.

"Don't even think about it." Peeta said as he saw me eyeing the table.

Too late, though. I'm already running towards it. Nostalgia comes rushing on to me as I touch the familiar weapon. There are a whole lot of them, in wood, metal and some other materials I can't even name, in all shapes and sizes. I pick up a wooden, average-sized one, almost just as big as the ones I have back home. _Perfect._

The archery range was at the far right, and the Careers are way too busy being their arrogant, overconfident selves that they don't notice me till I send the first arrow flying past Knife Girl's head, right through the dummy she was about to savage. It felt so good to shoot, target after target, hitting bullseye every time. I didn't stop till all six dummies around her are shot, straight through the heart.

"Sorry, Two. Didn't realize you were actually aiming. _At all."_

With that, I dropped the bow and quiver, albeit grudgingly. I walked to where Peeta was, who by the way was gawking at me like I just grew another head that looks like Effie Trinket.

"Haymitch is so going to kill you." He says, complete with wide eyes and an astonished voice.

"Not before she does." I retort, nodding at the brunette girl's general direction. She's glaring at me, holding her knife so tight I'm afraid it's gonna break. I'm sure as soon as the Games officially begin and the gong rings, one of her knives will find its way to my chest.

Everybody's staring now, even the trainers. Too bad the Gamemakers aren't here, they're most probably preparing for the private sessions later. Normally I would've hated the extra attention, but right now in my livid state I just reveled in it.

"Come on, let's go get some lunch. I'm starving." I nudge my district partner as he stays rooted on his place. As I take one last look at the gym behind me, I saw the rest of the Careers eyeing me, the boy from Two particularly. Just then did I realize that they would now see me either as a potential ally or an impending enemy.

* * *

Eleven.

A freaking eleven.

I got a damn freaking eleven.

You have got to be kidding me.

Suddenly everybody's celebrating, clapping me in the back and congratulating me. Even Haymitch who almost had a fit about me basically throwing myself at the swords of the Careers.

Word has gotten around about me getting Knife Girl's ass handed to her, but for the Gamemakers, it turns out seeing is believing. At least for those who were sober enough to assess me. Doesn't matter, anyway. I'm sure they were all sobered up after I shot an arrow in their upstaging, attention-hogging roast pig's mouth.

"-and it looks like they want players with some heat." I heard my mentor say before he reaches for a bottle of bourbon.

Effie straightens her magenta skirt as she finally stopped squealing. "As much as I'd like to keep this celebration going, we must all rest for the night—that includes you, Haymitch—after all, we have a big, big, big day tomorrow!"

Oh..right. The interviews, followed by a ball at President Snow's mansion.

How can somebody sleep through that?


	2. Spin

I wasn't even finished eating my breakfast when Effie hauls me up from my chair.

"Hey!" I say, sputtering chewed apple bits all over the table. "I'm not even finished yet!"

"There's a lot of time for eating later. For now, I'm going to teach you how to dance." Effie says, dragging Peeta and me to the center of the living room.

"To what?" We say at the same time, looking at her like she's lost her mind.

"To _dance_, my darlings. You've been invited to a very exclusive event, and we can't have you messing up when the whole of Panem is watching you." She huffs in exasperation.

Because of the ball, our interviews have to be done a day earlier. They'll start at three in the afternoon, and by six we'll have to be at President Snow's mansion. So instead of a full day of preparation, we now only have eight hours.

To say that Effie was a harsh teacher would have been the understatement of the century. Our allotted time for the dance lesson was two hours, and she had us working down to the last minute. After all the twirling and swaying and stepping on each other's toes sprinkled with Effie's constant reprimands, I was surprised Peeta and I made it with our feet (and ears) intact.

Peeta sat next to me, dropping himself loudly on the couch. "I think my feet just gave out."

"Then imagine how wonderful it felt wearing _this_." I say, raising my foot up to show the four-inch heels Effie lent me.

He chuckled, reaching for my leg. Before I had time to register what he's doing, he takes my foot to his lap and removes the shoe. "Give me the other one."

I stare at him while he removes the second shoe. He's such a tender, kind-hearted person and an all-around gentleman. We may have not known each other well back in our District, but I always knew he's a nice person. Giving me the bread five years ago is proof enough. And now that I've gotten to know him more, how would I have the nerve to kill him?

He's got my feet on his lap, for heaven's sake. At the rate we're going, I won't even be able to pluck a single hair from his head in the arena.

Our moment of silence was shattered when our whole team came bursting through the elevator. Flavius wasted no time, picking me up from the couch bridal style, Octavia and Venia on his flanks. I only had enough time to look at Peeta and see him mouth the words 'good luck'.

My team works on me till lunch, giving me exactly ten minutes to eat before they take me to the living room. This is where the finishing touches will be done, since Peeta and I asked to be coached together. Haymitch arrived as Octavia was painting my nails, and while Peeta has no trouble answering his questions, I definitely have. Let's just say I don't have the charm or the allure to draw people in. Towards the end of our coaching session, Haymitch even called me a dead slug.

That hurt, by the way.

At exactly two o'clock Cinna appears with a green garment bag that sure contains my dress. He takes me to my room and asks me to close my eyes while he puts the dress on me.

"You can open your eyes now." He says as I step on my shoes, which are, thank goodness, two inches lower than the ones Effie made me wear this morning.

_Wow._ That's all my brain can process as I look at myself in the mirror. _Wow. _I may not be the girliest girl in Panem, _but_ _damn_, Cinna made me look, and feel, beautiful. "Oh, Cinna. Thank you."

"Twirl for me."

So I raise my arms and spin, the movement making it look like I'm engulfed in fire.

"Perfect. Now all we need is a smile." He tells me as my prep team stops shrieking in excitement.

"Haymitch called me a dead slug." I say as he dismisses my team. "Whatever we tried, it just didn't work. I'm sorry, Cinna. I think I just threw all your hard work out the window."

He takes my cold, shaking hands in his. "Here's what you do: when you answer the questions, just think that you're talking to a friend back home. How does that sound?"

I consider this for a moment "Well.. Gale already knows everything about me. It doesn't make sense."

"How about me? Could you think of me as a friend?" He asks me and I nod. "I'll be on the main platform along with the other stylists. When you're asked a question, think that it's me you're talking to. Answer as honestly as possible, okay?"

"Okay." I say. My hands are trembling now.

"Remember, they already love you." He says as he hugs me. "Just be yourself."

* * *

My interview went better than expected, thanks to Cinna's advice. It was because of him that the people loved me so much. With his fiery costumes, he made me memorable. But it was his little tip that helped me make myself unforgettable.

Peeta did well on his interview, too. Despite being the last one to come up, he held the attention of the audience with his natural humor and easygoing attitude. And with his revelation of an unrequited love for a girl back home, he totally won the Capitol's heart.

All twenty-four of us were ushered back to the bottom level of the Remake Center as soon as our interviews finished. Only now, there aren't horses and chariots waiting for us, but twelve cars.

Twelve sleek, elegant black cars that are totally unnecessary, since the president's mansion is only about twenty blocks away. But then again, this is the Capitol. Excess and superfluous is what they live for.

Cinna, Portia, Effie, Haymitch and our prep teams were there waiting for us. They all congratulate us for doing well in our interviews.

"You guys did great!" Effie babbles excitedly while my prep team retouches my make-up and rearranges my dress, "Katniss, darling, you are just gorgeous! Keep up the cheerful smile, okay? I can almost see sponsors lining up for you!"

"Thanks, Effie." In her own, Capitol-bred, simple-minded ways, Effie made me feel like I did a great job. Unlike some people standing there who told me I'm as romantic as dirt. And yes, I'm referring to Haymitch.

"Well, you two better get in now. Remember, heads high and smiles." Portia tells Peeta as she straightens his coat.

"Off you go. We'll meet you there." Cinna tells us as he opens the door of the car.

The ride was just like the Tribute Parade, but shorter since we'll head straight into the mansion instead of going around the City Circle. Tons of people still lined up the streets, though. Our windows were left open, so I guess we have to wave and smile and blow kisses at them. Again.

We finally stop at the President's mansion, the huge mahogany double doors wide open. Photographers and cameramen occupy the marble stairs, a plush red carpet laid at the center.

"Ready?" Peeta says, offering me his hand.

"You think?" I smirk at him, placing my hand in his.

Smiling, Peeta pushes his car door open, revealing cameras flashing as soon as we got out of the car.

If possible, the crowd's cheers grew wilder. Cinna's right. They totally love us. Suddenly I can't help but feel a little elated; their screams of support and adoration encouraging me. Why should I count myself out of the Games now?

Two men dressed in all black suits lead us to the ballroom. The ceiling must be at least forty feet high, with murals of angels and goddesses decorating it. Enormous, golden chandeliers illuminate the entire room, their crystals glinting and throwing off bits of light. A grand, two-way staircase is on the opposite side of the room, leading the way to the balconies upstairs. Up there, one must have a great view of the dance floor in the center of the room.

A hush falls over everyone as President Snow stood on the center of the staircase.

"Good evening everyone. As you all know, this is a very special event for me and my family. Tonight marks the sixteenth birthday of our sweet, darling Andromeda, who we all watched grow from a little girl to a beautiful young lady. I want to personally thank all of you for coming tonight, especially our guests of honor, the tributes of the 74th Hunger Games for celebrating this milestone with us. So without further ado, I present you my granddaughter, Andromeda Snow." The crowd bursts into a round of applause. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly isn't anything like the girl who was descending the stairs.

The sparkling bodice of her midnight blue strapless gown was shining against her alabaster skin. Her hair, dark as a moonless night, cascades in soft curls down her back. Against the soft, regal glow given off by the chandeliers, she looked entirely flawless.

"She's beautiful." I tell Peeta, still in awe of the girl. She doesn't look anything like a typical Capitol citizen. No alterations, no tattoos, no artificial enhancements. Just her and her natural beauty.

"I know." He says, and I'm not exaggerating when I say his mouth was hanging open.

As Andromeda reached the center of the stairs, she takes her grandfather's arm and they make their way to the dance floor, signaling the first dance. A richly dressed middle-aged couple, Andromeda's parents I suppose, joins them after a few moments. More and more people start to dance. I spot the District One tributes, waltzing their way to the dance floor.

I was just about to tell Peeta that maybe we should start dancing now when he blurts out, "Well, shall we?"

He pulls me to the dance floor with our _still_ entwined hands. It's amazing how just a week ago we couldn't even say a word to one another, and now we're holding each other's hand like we've been doing it all this time.

"I thought I'd never say this, but I'm thankful Effie put us through that dance lesson this morning." Although it was somewhat traumatic, it sure made us look decent swaying on this hardwood ballroom floor.

"Despite it being life-threatening, yes. I'm grateful for it too." A goofy grin crosses his face. "Speaking of Effie, she told me it was Andromeda herself who requested our presence here tonight." He tells me. My eyes search for the girl and I spot her a few feet away from us, dancing with District Two victor Brutus.

"Really? Why did she? I mean, it's like she wants us to steal her spotlight on purpose." I say, looking at Andromeda as I try to figure her out. Up close you'll see that she has minimal make-up on. It's not like she needs much, anyway. She's already stunning, in every sense of the word.

I'm suddenly very intrigued about her. Being the President's granddaughter, she has a right to be more flamboyant than anyone else in the entire Capitol. But she isn't. Instead, she's as simple as a Capitol citizen can be. You can see it in her, not just in the way she looks, but also in the way she acts and presents herself. She's steady, sophisticated and elegant, with a quiet kind of confidence that draws people in.

I was distracted from my musings when Effie taps Peeta on the shoulder. She leads us to the bar on the right side of the grand staircase. There stood a young couple, probably in their late twenties, sipping their drinks and laughing with each other.

"Katniss and Peeta this is Anthony and Carissa Montaigne. And they are your first sealed sponsors." Effie says with a triumphant smile.

* * *

Ecstatic as we are to have so many potential sponsors lining around the block, it's very tiring to talk and smile and mingle with every single one of them, even dancing with some. There are also celebrities, victors and even government officials that our escort didn't mind introducing us to. When she's finally satisfied that we've done enough mingling, Effie leaves Peeta and I to look for Haymitch.

"You know what this means, right?" Peeta utters after a few minutes of silence.

"What?" I tiredly ask him, downing my third glass of wine.

"Dinner is served." He grins.

I almost forgot about the food: the great, delicious, mouth-watering food, laden in tables lining up the walls of the ballroom. We are currently at the southern part of the room, the heavy, magnificent oak doors just a few feet to our left. The tables near us were filled with soups and stews and salads and breads, I didn't realize how hungry I am till I see the divine looking lamb stew waiting for me.

I was about to get some when Peeta catches my wrist. "Let's take a look at the other tables first, shall we?" In other circumstances, I would've punched him for holding me back. But right now he actually has a point so I just follow him as he makes his way east.

The banquet here is a whole different story: different kinds of sea creatures were made into a thousand different dishes, from grilled salmon to lobster thermidor to calamari. It's like the ocean itself was brought up from its depths and served here. I help myself to four of the yummiest looking ones before we move on to the other side. Here, it was Peeta who almost did a touchdown dance in excitement. The western banquet was filled with everything meat. Cows, pigs, goats, fowls.. you name it.

"Hey Katniss, check this out." He says, holding his fork out to me.

Before anything else, I have to admit I felt a little giddy when Peeta spoon fed, okay, _fork fed _me the chicken. I really need to get over myself.

Anyway back to the chicken. It's roasted, served with potatoes and an array of green and blue beans. As I took a bite, the taste of a hot, sultry summer with the right amount of spicy rushes to my mouth. I know it sounds weird, but that's pretty much how it tasted to me.

"Good?" Peeta asks me. I can only nod in assent.

We were halfway to our journey in the dessert banquet when my district partner suddenly stopped on his tracks.

"Peeta? Are you okay?" I ask him while devouring this chocolate roulade.

"I think I'm going to be sick…" As if proving his point, his face starts to take a sickly shade of green.

"Oh no. Washroom. Now." I push him forward, taking a clear, tiny wineglass from his hands. I ask the bartender where the men's room is, and he gladly points to the edge of the bar. Sure enough, a gilded oak door stood at the corner.

Peeta's halfway inside when he turns to me. "It's okay, Katniss. I can handle myself. Go back to your roulade. I'll be there in a minute."

Not like I can argue. Nor do actually I want to. "All right."

Stepping away from the dimly lit corner, I go back to where my precious roulade was waiting for me. I look at the people buzzing around the room, and thankfully no one notices District Twelve's little mishap.

I was at the bottom of the staircase when I spot a familiar, platinum blond woman making her way down the stairs.

"Portia!" I run up to her.

She smiles when I fall into step beside her. "Katniss. Where's Peeta?"

"Oh, he's in the men's room. He took a sip from this clear drink that seemed to be in every damn table then he got sick." I tell her.

Her forehead furrows a bit. "The ones in tiny, stemmed glasses?"

"Yeah, that one. Is it alcohol?" It most likely is, and I've seen enough of Haymitch's puke-fests to back up my theory.

Portia's answer, however, was entirely not what I expected. "No. Its sole purpose is to have everything you just ate make a reappearance."

My jaw almost dropped.

"Seriously? I mean, people do that?" Come on. Are people here really _that _sick? Panicking, I hold out a bubbly drink I the bartender gave me a while ago. "This one's safe, though. Right?"

"_Capitol_ people do that. That one you're holding is champagne, so yes, it's safe. How much did he have?" She asks, concern evident on her features.

"Almost half a glass, I think. Uhm, have you seen Cinna?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs, but he's very busy. Your fiery debut at the Parade made him a star overnight." She tells me. There's no hint of envy in her voice, it even sounds like she's very proud of him. "Well I better go check on Peeta. He probably needs moral support."

I chuckle a little as I watch Portia make her way to the other side of the room. She really cares for Peeta the way Cinna cares about me. Somehow, our stylists made me believe that _at least _two people in the Capitol are decent.

I finish my roulade, then moving on to some pink éclairs. _Strawberries, _I bet. It tastes so much like a portion of the cake Cinna had ordered the night of the Parade. Somehow, it also goes great with the champagne.

I was about to get another glass from a passing waiter when a hand darts out and takes two glasses, handing out one to me.

"Katniss Everdeen. Finally." He says.

I look up, only to see none other than Finnick Odair smiling at me.


	3. Didn't See That Coming

**A/N:** Hey guys! We've made it to chapter three! And as promised, this chapter will have a lot of Finnick Odair goodness, not to mention Cato some and Katniss action :) The next chapter will probably be the last before the Games begin, so if you have any comments or suggestions don't hesitate to tell me.

I also want to thank you all for reading and putting this story in your Favorites and Alerts, especially to those who reviewed! I can't tell you how much your feedback means to me. For those who've read but haven't reviewed yet, by all means, go click that button and let me know what you think!

* * *

"Finnick Odair." I say, putting my drink down and extending my hand. I may be 'as charming as a dead slug' like Haymitch said, but I do have my manners.

He doesn't shake my hand, though. Instead he brings it to his lips and places a kiss on it. "May I have this dance, Miss Everdeen?"

"Of course."

His smile grew even wider, if possible. If I were a normal girl, my heart would've stopped beating at the sight of it. Don't get me wrong, he's attractive and all, possibly one of the most attractive men I'll ever meet in my life. It's just that he's too.. fickle? Desirable? Easy come and easy go? Everybody wants him, and I feel like I don't want to be a part of his eternal fan club or something.

He leads me to the dance floor, his hand still grasping mine. On the corner of my eye, it seems like everybody stopped what they're doing to turn and look at us. Finnick rests his right hand on my hip, pulling me close. _Too_ close for comfort.

Neither of us says a word, just now did I notice the melodious sound of an orchestra playing in one of the bigger balconies upstairs.

"You know, everybody's staring." I want to slap myself. That had to be my stupidest attempt at breaking an awkward silence.

Finnick doesn't seem to notice, though. "Then let them." He whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "Never before have they seen a woman as exquisite as you are."

I almost blushed at that. Almost. "I doubt that."

He pulls back a little to look at me. "I'm telling nothing but the truth, love. Word of advice, use that to your advantage in the Games."

He said the last part without a trace of playfulness, the alluring twinkle in his eyes gone. In a flash, I get a glimpse of the Finnick who killed his way out of the Games. Deadly, dangerous, yet still downright dazzling.

"Excuse me?"

"What I'm saying is you should use this—" He twirls me around then catches me back again, "—to your advantage in the Games. You're the Girl on Fire. Strong, fierce and feisty. Pretty, even. Use it not only to get your sponsors, but also to intimidate your opponents. See that boy over there?"

He sways me a bit to my left and I get a good view of the boy from District Two—Cato, if I heard it right in his interviews—charming and winking his way right into Blondie's good graces. "He's going to use his charm, good looks and deadly skills to get the upper hand. Don't let it get to you. They already see you as a threat, so act like one."

"So what you're saying is I should use my.. fierce _womanly charms_ to win this thing?" Gawd. That sounds incredibly laughable coming out of my mouth.

"Tried and tested, darling."

"Why are you helping me? You're mentoring for your district this year, right?" Shouldn't he be telling _this _to his tributes?

"Yes, I am. But it would break my heart to let such a fine young woman walk right into that arena without my advice. Especially when she can make good use of it." He says, his signature seductive purr back in his tone.

"If I ever get out of this alive, Finnick, I'm gonna have to take you out to dinner." I tell him teasingly. All the alcohol in my system must be doing its job well.

Finnick gives me a sensuous smile. "It would be my honor."

The song's about to draw to a close, so I decided it's the perfect time to take a page out of the almighty Finnick's book and act on his advice. "See you at the Victors' Ball, then." I give him my best flirtatious smirk.

"Definitely." He grinned in approval, my dress engulfing me in fire again as he twirls me one last time.

That's when I see Cato strutting his way towards me.

* * *

"Mr. Finnick Odair. Pleasure to meet you. Mind if I cut in?" says Cato, throwing in his most believable Golden Boy smile.

"Of course not." Finnick replies, releasing me. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Girl on Fire." He adds, kissing me on the cheek as a departing gesture.

Now I really did blush. Cato narrows his eyes for a moment, then back again to his usual annoying smirk. His expression changed so fast I might have imagined it.

"Shall we dance?" he says, his eyes finding mine. "Come on, I don't bite."

I almost scoff at that. "Sure you don't." I say, taking his outstretched hand.

I have to admit it, he's a good dancer. His feet are precise, moving left and right and guiding me around the dance floor like he's been doing this all his life. Do the Career Districts teach their tributes how to dance, too?

He pushes me a bit, letting go of my hip then using our intertwined hands to twirl me halfway and pull me flush against him. My back was to him, my arms crossed in front of me.

"You look stunning tonight, Twelve. Better than I expected. Even Finnick Odair was left entranced." He says, swaying me gently. He's so close that I can feel his breath in my hair. Not just uncomfortably close like Finnick was, with Cato I feel like I'm caught in a trap.

_He's going to use his charm, good looks and deadly skills to get the upper hand._ I hear Finnick's voice in my head. _Don't let it get to you._

So I don't. I wriggle one of my hands against his grasp, spinning as I extricate myself from him. My hand finds his shoulder, pulling him closer to me.

"Watching me again, Cato?" Wow. I don't know where the hell that came from. Finnick did a fantastic job giving me a crash course in Flirting 101. "That would have to be the fifth time I caught you staring at me."

"I'm afraid to say I am." He admits in an unconvincing attempt at innocence, "Although, how did you know I was watching you? By the looks you were giving me, you seemed to enjoy staring at me too."

"Maybe I did, but I'm sure your Blondie little princess thinks otherwise." I nod to where Blondie is, sipping a very red fruity little drink beside her district partner. If looks could kill, I'd be very dead right now.

Cato, however, found this amusing. "Jealous, are we _Katniss_?" He smirks at me, my name forming in his lips in a husky whisper. This is the first time we referred to each other by our first names, not that we've talked before. But somehow he makes it sound like he knows me personally. _Very _personally.

If you know what I mean.

"Maybe. Maybe not." I tell him, shrugging as if it doesn't matter.

"What do you say we form an alliance?" That pulled me up short. _Think Katniss, think._ I have to talk to Haymitch about this. And Peeta. So I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"I'll think about it. When I've made up my mind, you'll be the first one to know." I say a little breathlessly. I finally spot Peeta by the bar, eyebrows raised at me.

"All right." He smiles sweetly at me. Too sweet to be real, actually. "I hope you make the right choice."

"I will." I say while slowly extricating myself from him, avoiding yet another staring contest and making my way to my district partner.

* * *

"I leave you for ten minutes and suddenly you're wrapped around Cato." Peeta teases me, handing me a glass of champagne. I actually don't want any more alcohol, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"He said he wants me in on the alliance." I say as casually as possible, like how I would say _The sky is blue_ or _I'm going to buy some soap_.

I expected him to be mad and shout obscenities at me for even considering it, but Peeta just shrugged. "With that stunt you pulled on his district partner and your eleven in training, why wouldn't he want you on his team? You're the biggest threat there is, and he'd want to keep you under his watch to make sure you're not making a move against them."

He's right. Friends close, enemies closer. The Career's smarter than I gave him credit for. "I'd have to talk to Haymitch about this." I say, taking a sip of my drink. I thought I wouldn't like anything that involves alcohol, but this bubbly drink surprisingly tastes good.

"Yeah, assuming he's not passed out drunk in a corner somewhere." He says with a warm, honest smile.

I can't help but return it. Somehow I really like Peeta, the way he always tries to put a positive spin on things. He's.. full of light. It pains me to think that at least one of us will die in a matter of days.

"Come on, give the old man break." We both whip our heads in time to see Haymitch himself behind the bar, looking for another bottle of alcohol to gorge on. "I see you've been making some _friends_, sweetheart. Maybe you should replace your everyday tea with champagne so you don't scowl at everyone all the time."

Normally I would've said something wonderfully scathing, but since I need his help right now I just roll my eyes. "As you already probably heard, the Careers gave me an invitation to join them. Should I accept it?"

Now it's Haymitch's turn to roll _his_ eyes, his glass clanking with the lip of the bottle as he pours himself some Scotch. "What other choice do you have? You turn them down, they'll hunt you like bandit. Your best shot at winning is by sticking with them. As for breaking off, you'll know it when it comes. And I'll be there to guide you."

My jaw almost dropped. "Wait, did you just say that I actually have a chance at winning this thing?" All this time, Haymitch and I are butting heads with each other, and now he's telling me I got enough odds stacked in my favor?

"Everybody has a shot at winning, sweetheart. You just have a better chance than they do. Don't flatter yourself."

Something tells me that's the closest Haymitch will ever come to complimenting me, so I just nod and snatch his glass away from his grasp. The liquid burned my throat, my eyes almost watering from the sensation. Smirking at Haymitch, I hop down my bar stool and lead Peeta to the dance floor.

* * *

It's almost midnight when I decided to look for Cato. Seeing that he isn't anywhere in the ground floor, I make my way upstairs with Peeta right on my heels. He insisted on coming even when I told him there's no need to look after me, since this is a crowded party and Cato would have to be insane if he tries anything. I guess Haymitch's order grew on us. We're by each other's side at all times without even realizing it anymore.

"Woah. She's here." Peeta says as we reach the top of the center stairs.

I turn to look at where Peeta's gawking at, and I see Andromeda Snow sitting alone in the bar, chatting with the bartender.

I push my currently frozen district partner up the right staircase, all the way to the last step. We were almost at the bar when he turns to me, "Can we slow down for a second? Please?"

"Last time I checked I was the one pushing you up that damn stairs and just so you know, you're not the lightest person in Panem. So move."

"Just.. wait a second okay? I need to.. compose myself." He says.

This is the first time I see Peeta at a loss for words. He's always been good with them, it's a shock to see him unsure of how to present himself.

I say it as it dawns on me. "You like her don't you?"

Gawd, my bluntness jumps at me in the most inappropriate moments. Peeta's eyes widen, then a blush suddenly creeps to his face. That's all the answer I need.

"Go. Talk to her. I can deal with Cato." I say, pushing him one last time.

He takes a deep breath before looking back at me. "Well.. wish me luck."

"Good luck. I could use some too, you know." I say.

He smiles in response before taking off and approaching the beautiful girl by the bar.

It only took Peeta a minute to hit it off with Andromeda. His natural, good-natured charm took over, making effortless conversation flow between them.

I would've forgotten what I was here for if I didn't see the boy from District One swaggering towards my direction, holding two liquor bottles in one hand. I instinctively hide myself behind a smooth marble pillar, my eyes following him till he stops in front of a lounge a few balconies away.

Sure enough, the other Careers are with him, sitting around a fireplace in plush green couches. The boy from District One settles himself on a loveseat between two young Capitol women while the tributes from District Four are busy downing a bottle of who knows what. I inch a little closer, careful not to let them notice my presence. The last thing I need is to have their judgmental, prying eyes on me. When I'm only one balcony away, Cato immediately sees me, locking his eyes with mine. He's sitting across the boy from District One with his arm around Blondie, who looks like she's enjoying the contact far too much. Not breaking his gaze, I nod my head to the veranda across the room.

* * *

**A/N:** Soooo.. how about that review? :)


	4. Set Phasers To Stun

**A/N: **And I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, it's just that this chapter was the biggest road block in the story and it took me forever to finish it.. but anyways here it is and thank you so much for all the favorites, alerts, and of course the ever-confidence boosting reviews! It would really make me happy if you keep them coming :)

* * *

I turn on my heel, not waiting around to see if he's following me. I reach the veranda a little out of breath; my heart pounding a hundred miles an hour against my chest. I hear footsteps behind me, and in my peripheral vision I see Cato stepping over the threshold and into the balcony.

"Who's with us?" I say before he has a chance to open his mouth. There's no way he's gonna hear a flat out 'yes' from me. Ever.

"Tamara and Hal from Four, Marvel and Glimmer from One, and of course Clove from my district."

I can't help the chuckle that escaped my lips. Glimmer? Seriously? Somebody in District One named their daughter _Glimmer_?

"What's so funny?" Cato asks, an eyebrow raised at me.

"Blondie's name is Glimmer." Saying it out loud made it funnier. My shoulders are shaking from the chuckles now. Snatching Haymitch's Scotch wasn't a very brilliant idea after all.

"So?" He says, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the railings.

"Her name is Glimmer!" My snicker grows to a full blown laugh as I see the astonished look that crossed his face. "It's ridiculous."

I laugh some more, and I didn't miss the smile that played across his lips. "You better not tell her that, though. She might try to slice you in half."

That stopped me from laughing. Suddenly I remember why I had to talk to him in private. "Are you sure everybody's okay with this? Because somehow I can't see _Clove _being thrilled about me being your 'plus one' to the party."

"She won't try anything as long as I'm there. As long as _you_ don't do anything to set her off. Again." He smirks.

"She asked for it." I glower at him. I wouldn't have done it if she just minded her own business. It's the bitch's fault she got served.

His smirk widens at my response. "Yeah. Her reaction more than made up for it, though. That's the first time I saw Clove unhinged."

"Thanks. That's really comforting." There's so much sarcasm dripping from my words that it almost spilled on the sides.

"So how'd you get that eleven?" There it is again. Springing such a question at me while I'm off-guard so I have no choice but to answer it. There's no beating around the bush this time, though. He might as well know.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers. Well at the apple in their stupid roast pig's mouth, anyway. They weren't paying attention to me, so I made them." A cool, summer wind blew past the veranda, and it took all I had to suppress the chill that ran through me.

"You really don't like being upstaged, huh?" he says as he leans backward, elbows perched on the balustrade.

That got me thinking. I never saw it that way. I always blamed it on anger, on my short temper. But what really fuels that wrath? Arrogance? Condescension? Or worse, conceit? I cringe just at the mere suggestion of it.

"Maybe, maybe not." I say. The wind picks up a bit, the plants in the terrace swaying their bodies along with it. I rub my shoulders with my arms without thinking about it.

"For somebody nicknamed as the Girl on Fire, you're quite chilly." Cato says, his eyes roaming over my face all the way down to my toes.

I think it's be a great embodiment of the phrase _Undressing_ _Somebody with Your Eyes_.

"Try wearing a dress then let's see how long you'll stand." I roll my eyes at him, pushing back tendrils of my hair that's tickling my face.

I turn to the scenery before me, my eyes not used to such energy and life. If the Capitol looks magnificent in daylight, it's nothing compared to how majestic it is when the sun goes down. From this spot you can see the entire City Circle buzzing with life even in the depth of the night. Bright lights drench the buildings with a hundred different colors, gigantic screens showing different pictures all at the same time. And let's not forget the people: richly dressed, ostentatious and impractical as ever. Even up here, you can feel their delight as they celebrate our forthcoming deaths. How ironic.

A shuffling sound comes from behind me, and before I knew it Cato's placing his coat on my shoulders.

"Wouldn't want you freezing your ass off this close to the Games. You might not be able to shoot straight." He says, inching closer to me than needed. The warmth radiating from his body is oddly comforting, though. Not that he needs to know that.

"Why, Cato. Didn't know you actually care." With him so close and doing all nice and gentlemanly things, I'm not letting go of my sarcasm without a fight.

"I have to. You're my ally now." He says as-a-matter-of-factly. "Where did you learn how to shoot, anyway?"

"I was born with perfect aim." Give me a break. I'm still trying to get used to his upfront way of asking me. Sarcasm has always been my defense in.. fazing situations. Not that Cato's fazing me or anything. I take a deep breath, catching the faint scent of his cologne around me. It's a clean, masculine scent with an edge of mystery.. and peppermints? Yeah, definitely peppermints. Why does he smell like peppermints?

I let go of the breath I'm holding, looking out the City Circle again. "I hunt. I've been hunting since I was eleven."

No one's probably going to hear us now, with the wind this loud. Cato looks at me with disbelief. "Isn't that illegal?"

Asking me about my personal life is one thing, but pointing out the damn obvious is another. My bluntness shines the brightest during times like these. "Yeah. But so is training for the Games." I snap. I know I crossed the line on this one, I just hope he isn't going to throw me on the edge of this balcony or strangle me with his coat.

He stiffens a little, then lets out a strained chuckle. "I guess we're more alike than we think, Katniss."

"Maybe, maybe not." I say as my eyes meet his. His winter blue eyes that are storming with such intensity, clouds of thoughts swirling against them. The tension in his gaze is so immense it's almost physical. Like there's something tangible holding me down, making me unable to break off his stare.

"I better get going." I finally say when I couldn't take the tension any longer. I straighten up, taking his coat off me and giving it back to him. "Thanks."

"Sure you don't want it?" he says, a cocky expression evading his features.

"We can't have people getting the wrong impression, do we?" I was walking over to the doors that would lead me back inside when Cato's voice halts me.

"Goodnight, Katniss." He says.

I whip around in time to see him slinging his coat over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Cato. See you in the arena."

"Count on it."

* * *

I wake up to a harsh stream of light hitting me in the face. I slowly open my eyes, staring at the pale yellow ceiling. _Less than twenty four hours before the games. _I think. _The calm before the storm._

I get up from my bed, showering and dressing in autopilot. I'm jolted back to my senses when my mockingjay pin falls to the tiled floor, filling the bathroom with a clattering sound.

Madge. _What is she doing right now? Did she watch my interview last night? Does she think she made the right choice giving me her beautiful pin?_

I realize how much I miss her. She may not talk much, but her peaceful, reassuring company has always been enough. If I don't live through this, I won't have the chance to thank her anymore. For her pin, her encouragement, her friendship. Somehow I add her to the list of the people I have to win this for: for Prim, for Gale, for my mother, and now for her, too.

A pang of loneliness strikes me as I think about everyone I love, waiting for me back in District 12. Their hopeful, anguished faces as they watch me fight for my life. I just want this all to be over. _I want to go home._

But to get back to them, I'm gonna have to kill my way through, right? I'm gonna have to kill twenty three other people. Twenty three other people who want to go home just as much as I do. They're just children, like me. With families, friends and loved ones hoping they'll come back alive.

And I'll have to kill them all.

* * *

The day passes by really slowly. During lunch, no one was in the mood to talk, not even Effie. The hype of the training, the interviews and the ball has come and gone, leaving us all distressed for the day that's to come.

I locked myself up in my room till late afternoon. Effie beckoned me to the sitting room at five, the lack of sparkle in her eyes causing another wave of dread to go through me. Being the first fan-favorite tributes she ever escorted, I assume Peeta and I grew on her. I follow her out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the anthem of Panem booming loudly in the sitting room. The recaps of yesterday's events are about to be televised.

Our whole posse is seated on the plush green couches, their attention focused on the TV. I sit next to Peeta who's still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

The anthem slowly fades out and the seal of Panem is replaced by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith bantering around, obviously warming up the audience. All too soon the replays of last night's interviews started, showing the most memorable portions with Caesar and Claudius making comments about the tribute's angle, training score and fashion sense. They both proclaim to have been smitten by Glimmer, which is not surprising since she used the 'sexy' angle. Marvel, they say, is a ladies' man who has the women population of Panem falling for his cocky charms. Clove is a "pretty little thing with a sharp tongue", saying that looks can be deceiving when it comes to this girl.

Then there comes Cato.

Brutal, bloody Cato. A ruthless killing machine with enough of the bad boy vibe that draws the ladies in. If I try hard enough to get past that stupid little smirk of his, I can definitely say he's quite handsome. Okay, maybe really handsome. But it's not like I'll ever admit that.

I was so busy trying to move on from the fact that I actually thought Cato was attractive that I didn't bother to watch the other tributes' interviews anymore. Not until Rue's turn. Small, young and delicate, the way she moves and talks reminds me so much of my little sister. If push comes to shove, will I be able to kill this girl? My throat tightens at the thought.

I almost didn't recognize myself when my face is shown on the screen. Smooth, olive skin and full red lips, my eyes dark and huge. Caesar prattled enthusiastically as Claudius responds with impeccable timing. _They love the Girl on Fire, not me._ I think. _They only see the parts of me that they want to see. If they knew the real me, they'd probably burn me on a stake or something._

Lastly, it's Peeta's turn. These people love him for who he really is. Likeable, adorable, lovable.. well you get the point. He never has to pretend. He's so selfless and pleasant by nature that I sometimes kind of hate him for it. People like him don't deserve to be in the Games. Nobody does. If I ever win this thing, how will I be able to live through being a victor? How will I stand among these gaudy, morbid Capitol people who let twenty-three children die, year after year, while the last one standing lives a life full of misery? Who came up with this barbaric, cruel Games anyway?

Whoever it was, I hope they're having fun burning in rotten hell.

* * *

The interview reruns are followed by the TV special of Andromeda Snow's birthday celebration. They covered everything—from the venue preparations, the designing of her gown, the guests.. Well in short it quickly bored me out. Since it's almost seven already I excused myself to go to the dining room, asking an Avox to prepare our dinner. After a few more minutes Peeta, Haymitch and our stylists followed suit, while Effie and the prep teams asked for their meals to be served in the sitting room.

We just finished our main course when the actual moments from the party were shown. Andromeda's entrance, the performances and of course, the guests of honor. Cinna politely suggested we have our dessert in the sitting room so we could watch along with the others. Caesar and Claudius voice out their thoughts about just how spectacular the event is, making it possibly the event of the year. We tributes got almost half of the screen time as the debutante did, especially the Careers and Peeta and me.

I nearly choke on my hazelnut truffle as I see the picture on the TV screen. It's Peeta fork-feeding me the summer flavored chicken.

"I'm really curious as to what's going on with these two. We all know Peeta Mellark said he has someone he fancies back home, but could that change because of the Girl on Fire?" He says, looking utterly inquisitive. "A reliable source told me that the two were inseparable in training, and judging by how close and comfortable they are with each other at the party, I think it's all right to assume that there is something deeper than friendship going on between the two tributes."

"Indeed, Ceasar. The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve!" Claudius agrees. His tone is too damn happy I want to punch him. "However, my friend, as the night wore on we also saw Finnick Odair himself spellbound by Miss Everdeen's beauty. They seem to have had quite a good time." More pictures of me, this time with Finnick. When he kissed my hand, when we were dancing and when he twirled me.

"And let's not forget District Two's Cato von Blaicken, who was brave enough interrupt Finnick and Katniss." Caesar's voice resonates in the background while another set of images flashes in the screen. Cato cutting in between me and Finnick, Cato and I dancing, and another one when he was holding me so close I could hardly breathe. It looks as if he's hugging me from behind while we sway on the dance floor. Seeing it with my own eyes made me squirm inside, I couldn't even hear what bullshit Caesar was saying.

All those were nothing compared to the next image that appeared. It was during our talk in the veranda, right about the moment when he told me we're more alike than we think. We were both leaning against the railings, facing each other with only a few inches between us. The shot was taken behind me, and with Cato's head tilted a little to the right it looks like we're kissing. A lot. Now I choked on my truffles for real.

"Well well well! Looks like the Girl on Fire is a heartbreaker. I can't wait to see how much of this budding romances will unfold!" Claudius interjects with that booming voice of his.

"That's why you should stay tuned, Panem! Don't miss the opening of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games live tomorrow at ten o'clock in the morning, with an encore telecast at seven thirty p.m. But for now we must end here, and we'll all see you again tomorrow!" Caesar says, looking straight at the camera addressing the whole of Panem. Of course everybody will watch. It's not like we have a choice.

Claudius then utters the golden phrase of the Games. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone!"

"And may the odds be ever in your favor. Goodnight, Panem." Caesar ends. The seal of Panem appears again, the anthem played, then the screen goes dark. Cinna turns the TV off while everybody else stares at me.

"You know sweetheart, that just gave me a brilliant idea." Haymitch says with a hand under his chin, looking at me thoughtfully. Our prep teams, ushered out by Effie, mutter a quick goodnight to us before heading off to the elevator.

It takes me a few seconds to catch what my mentor's trying to say. "No. No, no no, Haymitch. Not in this lifetime, not even in the next one. Never."

"Finnick told you everything you needed to know. It shouldn't be as difficult as you think it's going to be."

"I am not going to play lovesick schoolgirl with Cato." I say with finality.

"Then have fun enjoying you last few days in this lifetime." Haymitch snaps at me. "I'm not telling you to marry him, Katniss. You just have to flirt with Cato here and there to keep the 'budding romance' act alive. The show, the comments made by Caesar and Claudius, gave you an immense advantage in the Games. You're not just the Girl on Fire now. You're not just the girl who volunteered for her sister anymore. You're now seen as a heartbreaker: beautiful, desirable, alluring. Do you think you could've managed to do that on your own? Sponsors will be tripping over their own feet supporting you."

He pauses for a few moments, letting his words sink in. When he sees I already realized he's right, he continues.

"All you have to do is keep your temper in check, stick with the Careers and bat your eyes at Cato. Stay close to him. Keep your guard up at all times around the others, especially around the District Two girl. Once they start badgering with one another, get the hell out. You'll know it when it's time to leave. You understand me?"

I nod solemnly. "Yes."

"Good." Haymitch downs the rest of his thankfully non-alcoholic drink in one gulp.

"What do I do after that?"

"Stay alive." He says. "Now go to your room. I'm going to speak to Peeta. Privately."

I stomp out of the sitting room, albeit bitterly. I know Haymitch's just trying to keep me alive, but following orders has never really been my thing. I've grown to be way too independent to the point where asking for help kind of scratches my pride. I feel like I always have to pay back the help that's been given to me, immediately. I don't like owing anyone anything.

Dropping myself on my queen-sized bed, I think about that cold, rainy afternoon when Peeta Mellark saved my life. It wasn't just the bread, it was the hope those loaves of bread he gave me that I owe him so much for. He helped me when nobody else did, and I'll always be trying to pay him back for that.

Which brings me back to the million dollar question: what would I do if we run into each other in the arena?

If I'm not with the Careers, chances are I'll just let him go. After that we'd be even, no more owed. Simple as that, or at least that's what I tell myself.

I snap out of my reverie when somebody knocks on my door.

"Come in." I glance at the clock on my nightstand, the numbers _10:12_ glaring at me. Wow. I've been zoning out for thirty minutes.

Peeta closes the door with a soft click, then turns to face me. He's holding a small pink box in his hands.

"What's that?" I ask.

"An Avox brought it a few minutes ago. Don't worry, Haymitch already cleared it." He says, handing the box to me.

I take it from him, running my hands over the smooth surface of the box. "What's inside it?"

"I don't know. He didn't let me peak." He shrugs before grinning at me.

I gingerly lift the lid and see éclairs. Strawberry éclairs to be exact, about half a dozen of them neatly lined inside a plastic pastry container. I take them out, passing them to Peeta. It doesn't surprise me when I see a note sitting on the bottom of the box. Heavy cream linen paper, inked with a breezy effortless script.

_Don't be too sweet or they'll eat you up. Don't be too bitter, or else they'll spew you out._

_-Finnick_

He's serious about that advice, after all.

"Who's it from?" Peeta asks, munching on an éclair beside me.

"Finnick." I tell him languidly.

"I think he likes you. Maybe not romantically—no offense—" He raises both of his hands in mock surrender "but he does seem to be really fond of you. Admires you, even."

"You think so?" I ask him, unsure if he's being honest or just trying to make me feel better.

"Yep." He's being sincere, as far as I can tell. Does he really think I'm that likeable? Am I really that likeable? I mean, it's great if I am, but somehow I just don't see myself in that light. "You really have no idea, do you?" He says, taking in my contemplative expression. "The effect you can have."

His response makes me more confused. _Effect? What effect?_

He changes the topic before I can ask what he meant. "Anyway back to Finnick. What does his note say, if I may ask?"

I hand him the note while munching on an éclair myself. It's just as delicious as the ones in the party, the light creaminess of the pastry filling my mouth.

"Well.. I guess you're gonna have to play love team with Cato, then." He says, giving the note back.

"As if I have a choice. Maybe Haymitch got Finnick to enlighten me about it, thinking I'll probably listen to anybody but him." I huff. I hate it when Haymitch's right. It makes me feel bad for being a pain in his ass.

"Looks like it worked." Peeta says, smirking. "I don't think Haymitch asked for Finnick to intervene, though. I think he wants to give you his 'advice' himself so he asked for Haymitch's approval to talk to you."

Peeta's theory seems plausible. Maybe Haymitch really has something to do with it, since he's our mentor and he has to know everything there is for us in the Games. And if Haymitch trusts Finnick, I think I better do, too.

"You think I could trust Finnick?"

"Well.. I think you could trust _at least _his advice. If two Victors think it's a great idea, who are we to say otherwise?" He tells me with a grin.

"I don't think I can do it, Peeta. I don't know what to do." I've never had a boyfriend, much less flirted with anyone. I don't know if I can pull this off.

"Just remember who you're doing this for. Whenever you encounter something in the arena that makes you indecisive, remember why you have to win."

I don't know how I should respond to that. What can I say, when in less than twelve hours we'd be pawns in a deadly game? When the survival of one's self means the certain death of the other? I don't want Peeta to die, but I certainly can't _not_ win, either. We shouldn't have just gotten close to each other. It makes things a whole lot harder when the Games begin.

"I guess this is goodbye, then." I say after a few minutes of silence.

"Pretty much, yes." He gets up from my bed, straightening his shirt as he stood up. "Goodnight, Katniss."

I stand up too, accompanying him to the door. "Goodnight Peeta. I hope we don't see each other in the arena."

He smiles, reaching for the doorknob. "I hope so too. Stay alive."

"You too." Before I have time to register what I'm doing, I step closer to Peeta and hugged him. It took every ounce of strength I had not to let my tears fall. After a few seconds I pull away from him and stepped aside so he can open the door, not having the balls to look at him. Judging by the way he's moving, I can tell he found this a little awkward, too. He closes the door softly behind him, leaving me and my humiliated ass alone in my room. I go back to my bed and crawled under the covers. Sleep didn't come till midnight settled in, my last conscious thought being _If Peeta dies, please don't let me witness it._

* * *

_Cameras are flashing, brighter and brighter, taking snapshots of me in my billowy dress. They kept on shouting my name and asking me questions, shoving past each other to get a closer look at the Girl on Fire. Aggravated, I push them all away, running off towards the exit and wrenching open the heavy doors of the Remake Center. _

_I was greeted by the chill, crisp air of midnight. Not a soul is in sight in the City Circle, the only thing I can hear was the sound of my own heartbeat. I turn around, but the Remake Center already disappeared. I am alone._

_My isolation is starting to scare me, so I run, making my way to the Training Center when I hear a rustle behind me. Cato brushed past me as if he didn't even see me. I call out out his name, but he just looked at me over his shoulder, chuckled darkly, then kept on running. I went after him, and we were halfway to the Training Center when someone yanks my left arm._

_Portia? My befuddled mind took in her curly, platinum blond hair, her hand clutching my arm in a death grip. "Don't trust him, Katniss. Don't." she says._

"_Why?" I ask, feeling an unreasonable anger bubble up inside me._

"_Because he'll leave you when you need him the most."_

_I look back to where Cato was, but my eyes found nothing._

* * *

Cinna enters my room before the crack of dawn. After he helps me change into a plain white shirt and denim cutoffs, we go up to the roof, waiting for the hovercraft that would take us to the catacombs under the arena. The Launch Room, as they call it, will be where my final preparations are going to be done. District Twelve calls it the Stockyard, the place where animals are held in before slaughter.

It seems fitting, I think.

The hovercraft finally arrives, a ladder lowering down in front of us. I grip tightly on the rungs, my feet cautiously placed under me. A current has me frozen till I'm inside, where a woman in a white lab coat injects the tracker on my arm.

Cinna and I have our breakfast at the hovercraft and after about half an hour we reach the arena. He helps me get ready, fixing my hair and helping me into my clothes.

"Head high, Girl on Fire. Remember what Haymitch and Finnick told you, okay?" Cinna says as he fastens my mockingjay pin on my shirt.

"Okay." I'm sort of shaking now. Cinna takes my hand in both of his as he leads me to the glass tube that would take me to arena.

"Good luck, Katniss. If I'm ever allowed to bet, I'd bet on you. You remember that." He says, kissing me on the forehead.

I step inside the tube, positioning myself in the center of the metal plate. The cylinder starts to rise, the Launch Plate pushing me up till I can feel the midday sun casting a warm glow on my skin. The clean, earthly scent of the forest assures me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games begin!" I hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith surrounding me, then the countdown begins.

_Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…_

I observe the field before me. A vast plain, with the golden horn of the Cornucopia smack right at the middle. To my right side was a lake, the forest to my left and back. Right across me was the boy from Eight, and behind him was virtually nothing. Could be a field or a damn cliff, I don't know.

_Forty-two, Forty-one, forty.._

I look around for Peeta, spotting him five tributes to my right. He gives me a terse nod before lifting his head high, looking straight ahead.

_Thirty-five, Thirty-four, thirty-three.._

About two more tributes to Peeta's right stood Cato. Judging by the way he's looking at me, he's waiting for me to catch his stare. I look at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow. He inclines his head a bit to his right, gesturing to a silver, sparkling object about three feet from the mouth of the Cornucopia.

_Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen.._

A bow. A gorgeous, spectacular bow and a sheath of arrows, lying in a mound of blanket rolls. It's a lot like the same bow I used to shoot at the Gamemakers. Haymitch's right, again. They want players with some heat. They want a good show out of me. I look back at Cato, who just smirks at my awestruck expression. His shoulders are squared tight with anticipation. He gives me a wink, then his eyes zeroes in to a rack of swords just inside the golden horn.

_Eleven, ten, nine.._

I bend my knees a little, preparing myself for the forty-yard sprint that could be difference between my life and death. I ball up my fists, the tension and excitement coursing through my veins. _I can do this._ I tell myself. _Run, get the bow, and the rest will follow._

_Six, five, four.._

A year ago, if someone told me that one day I'll be in an arena acting on Finnick Odair's advice, I would've glared the living daylights out of them. Now, standing on a metal plate about to fight to the death, the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

_Three, two, one._

Everything was silent as Panem draws in a collective breath. After what felt like a lifetime, the gong rings and I run for my life. Literally.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews, anyone? :)


	5. Head Club

**A/N: **After a decade-long wait, chapter five is finally up! Again, I apologize for the long, agonizing wait I put you through. I promise I'll try to update faster next time—even if it means I'll have to write till the wee hours of the morning—because that's just how much I love you guys! Thank you so much for all the feedback, they drive me to write better and all that. =)

Also, constructive criticism is always welcome! If you have any questions or spot any errors or holes in the plot, don't hesitate to tell me. 'Cause you know, it inspires me to consistently improve my writing and to write the story in the best quality that I can for you. Really, it's a win-win. :)

Shoutout to my Beta, Charlie! Thank you for helping me spot blunders and work my way through them. I promise to keep your tips in mind. =) You're the best! *Sending you a virtual Double Hotfudge Sundae*

* * *

Ten yards. That's how near I am to my bow and arrows when the girl from Seven crashes into me sideways, knocking out every ounce of air I have. I luckily land a punch in her throat, making her upper half stagger back. Just as I'm pushing her off me, a spear goes right through her middle, skewering her liver and possibly her right kidney.

"You're welcome," Cato says, holding out a hand. A few feet behind him stood the boy from Seven. Seeing his district partner pretty much dead he prepares to lunge himself at Cato, a wicked axe in tow.

I quickly take Cato's hand, snatching an ear dagger strapped in his belt and hurling it at the running boy. I was only hoping for a solid shot to slow him down, but instead the dagger pierces the hollow of his throat, making him choke on his own blood as the life drains from his body.

"I guess you're welcome too." I look up at Cato as the boy falls face down to the earth.

He grins. "Nice shot."

"I got lucky." I realize he's too close for comfort yet again. His left hand is resting on my waist, reminiscent to how he held me that night when we danced at the ball. Not tearing away his gaze, he brings his hand up, lightly grazing my side before wiping a streak of blood on my cheek. His other hand—the one he offered me moments ago— envelops mine as it rests on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, loud and clear and steady, whereas mine is pounding erratically against my ribcage a hundred miles an hour. I swallow audibly, not trusting my vocal chords which are more or less inactive at the moment. I have no idea how we got into this position.

"Hey Fire Girl!" Marvel yells, three yards to my right. He tosses my bow and arrows at my feet, then goes off to chase the girl from Three.

I waste no time standing there, the presence of the familiar weapon completely waking up my battle reflexes. Stepping away from Cato, I sling my quiver over my shoulder and pick my first target.

The boy from Eight is about twenty feet across me, slinging a large navy blue backpack on one shoulder. He looks back at Clove who just finished dissecting the boy from Nine.

_Well, here goes nothing._ It's either my arrow or Clove's lethal array of knives. I pull an arrow from my sheath, drawing back my bowstring and sending the arrow right through the center of his neck. I bet he didn't even know what hit him. He's dead before he even hit the ground.

I whip around to see Cato still watching me. He gives me another one of his trademark winks before running off to the Cornucopia, where the boy from Six is currently bludgeoning Hal with a spiked mace.

There's no one in my vicinity now. I look around and see the District One tributes fighting it out with the girl from Six and the boy from Five. They're near enough that I can hear the girl's bloodcurdling screams as Glimmer splits her abdomen open. Wanting to block out the horrifying sound I run to the other side of the field, a flash of familiar, curly dark hair stopping me in my tracks.

_Rue._ She's clearly on her way to the forest when the girl from Ten slams into her and they both fall to the ground due to the impact. I reach for an arrow and take my aim, but the girl's sudden movement caused me to miss her heart, puncturing her left lung instead. She howls in pain as the arrow sinks deep in her chest, the crimson of her blood staining the grassy field.

Rue watches me with wide eyes, shaking with fear. Her terrified state reminds me of Prim a few moments before the Reaping.

"Go." I pick up the girl's pack, throwing it to Rue. She gives me one last glance before scooping it up and disappearing into the woods.

When she's well out of sight, I turn my attention to the girl from Ten. She's desperately holding on to the last slivers of her life, gasping for air, blood bubbling in her mouth every time she takes a breath. I move closer to her, letting go of the arrow and delivering the death blow. This time I hit her squarely in the heart, and I make the mistake of looking at her face as I did. She holds my gaze, forcing me to watch as the light slowly leaves her eyes. She exhales one last time, then breathed no more. I retrieve my arrows from her body, putting the bloody tips away from my line of vision as I head back to where the others are.

The battle seems to be over now, and I count all the lifeless bodies littering the field. Eleven tributes down, Hal included. He's still breathing, but the steady flow of blood from his temple has him knocking on death's door.

"You stole my kill!" I hear Clove yell as I get closer. There seems to be an argument between her and Tamara.

"You let Hal die!" Tamara says.

"He's dead, anyway. He already was the moment the boy from Six hammered him with that mace. Cato's merely ending the little boy's suffering," Glimmer interjects, defending Cato, who, by the way, just slit the thirteen-year old boy's throat a few yards from us.

Clove disregards Tamara's argument, her rage at its peak. "I saved your ass, you dumb bitch. You were as good as dead if I didn't wound that girl from Nine."

"What's going on?" I whisper to Marvel. I figure it's safe to talk to him, since he doesn't seem to fancy glaring the living crap out of me like the rest of the people here. Besides, he gave me my bow. That ought to count for something, right?

Anyway, he fills me in on what caused this little shindig. It turns out Tamara's on her way to help Hal when the girl from Nine collided with her. She nearly blacked out from the blow, making her unable to defend herself. Clove arrives just in time, injuring the girl's right arm and Tamara, in her haze, stabbed the knife at the girl's chest killing her instantly.

"Aaand add the fact that Tamara used Clove's knife to kill the girl," Marvel adds.

Clove's screeching now, her balled up fists shaking in anger. She didn't injure the girl because she wanted to save Tamara. She could've just thrown at the girl's throat to get it over with, but she didn't because she likes to play with her prey before she kills them. And with Tamara intervening and killing the girl with her knife, I understand why Clove's beyond pissed.

Cato steps in, his irritation almost visibly rolling off of him in waves. "Would everybody just shut the fuck up? You, stop whining unless you want to end up like your district partner," he says, looking at Tamara before turning to Clove. "And Clove, there are plenty other tributes out there to torture and kill so stop getting your knickers in a bunch."

Well, that shut everyone up. The tension is so thick you can almost cut it with a plastic spoon. Tamara appears to be sizing Clove up, her eyes flitting back and forth from Clove's enraged expression to her right hand that's clutching a silver-hilted knife. Behind Clove stood Glimmer, who glares at me like she's plotting my demise in a hundred possible ways.

"I think we should move." Four other pairs of eyes turn to look at me. "The hovercrafts must be on their way to pick up the bodies as we speak."

Clove raises her eyebrows, looking as if she's about to say something derisive when Cato speaks up. "Let's go to the lake. Bring some weapons if you want."

* * *

It takes the hovercrafts twenty minutes to pick up the dead bodies from the Cornucopia. It isn't supposed to take that long, given that only eleven tributes died, but I suppose picking up some itty bitty internal parts scattered around kind of lengthened their job. Before the last of the hovercrafts leave, the cannons signifying the tributes' deaths start firing. I absentmindedly wash my three bloodstained arrows, wiping the tips on the hem of my jacket as I count the shots.

_Eleven. _Somehow, somewhere in this god-forsaken arena, Peeta's still alive. I almost let out a sigh of relief.

"What a joy it must be, Fire Girl. Lover Boy's still alive and breathing," Clove says, lining the inside of her coat with knives.

I put my arrows back on my quiver and slide it onto my shoulder. "I'm simply keeping track of who's left. Wouldn't hurt to know our competition, right, Clove?"

"All right. That's enough," Cato interferes, standing in front of me and hauling me up by the arm. I let out a little yelp of surprise as he starts making his way back to the Cornucopia, his hand grasping my left wrist. Behind us I see Clove roll her eyes before sending another bone-chilling stare at Tamara, who returns it as fiercely as she can. As usual, Glimmer glowers at my general direction. I'm beginning to think she reserves that bitchy death glare only for me. Marvel, on the other hand, looks extremely amused at the sight before him. He sighs theatrically, facing the trees to our left. At least one of them must have a camera lodged deep inside its trunk.

"Girls," he says, turning up the cocky charm. The viewers must be having a good laugh at his antics right now.

Upon reaching the Cornucopia, we start going over the supplies, opening packs and bins and burlaps. Cato places five big crates on the mouth of the Cornucopia. Food goes to the farthest right, with medicine next to it. Weapons to the center, survival items on its left, then clothes and other personal stuff on the last crate.

Irrational anger boils up inside me. Here we are, with food and medicine and other necessities that will most likely outlast us, while the rest of Panem battle starvation. I think of the Capitol residents, eating mountains of food and sitting on the edge of their plush couches as we tributes slaughter each other. What fun they must be having, watching us have our humanity and morals slip away from us. I can't help but resent them, how easy it is for them to get what we are forced to provide for them with little to no effort. While the Districts work hard to produce their quotas, these Capitol people are too busy dyeing their hair and picking their outfits and planning parties. Most of all, I resent them for supporting this twisted mess of a reality show. Is the call for blood so strong that it overshadows that of mercy? Do those people even know what mercy means?

I glare at the pack full of toiletries in my hands. Even this doesn't fail to annoy me. Shampoos and shower gels of different scents, stuffed cozily inside a waterproof pouch. It reminds me just how much the Capitol lives a far better life than the outlying Districts. I'm tearing open the pouch when Marvel's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"If I were you, Fire Girl, I'd stay away from anything vanilla scented."

"And why should I do that?" I say, opening up a new pack and sorting through its contents. I move to the survival items, tossing a rope in an overflowing bin.

"Because Glimmer doesn't like to have someone around her who smells like her signature scent." He smirks, leaning back on some rolled-up sleeping bags beside the crate.

If we aren't on national television, I would have just ignored him. But since we are and he's just up for some harmless conversation, I thought it would be smart to just acknowledge him.

"Good thing I don't have a passion for vanilla."

"Oh?" He says. "What's your... preferred scent, then?"

"Strawberries."

"Well in that case, you should have this." Marvel plucks a pink bottle from the toiletries box inside the last crate, throwing it to me.

I read the label on the shampoo bottle. "Strawberries and champagne, huh?"

"Sweet, yet dangerous. Suits you." He smiles, leaning closer to me. So it's official. Marvel Gallagher is flirting with me. I guess everybody wants a piece of the heartbreaker-girl-on-fire-slash-sponsor-magnet.

"You think so?" I say, neither encouraging nor deterring his advances.

"Yep. Am I wrong?"Apparently he saw my response as an encouragement. He leans in, closer and closer, until his face is mere centimeters from mine. I scoot backwards till the back of my head bumps on the edge of the Cornucopia. _Oh shit._

"Uhmm, I—"

"As much as I'd hate to interrupt your playtime, Clove actually needs your help, you downgraded version of Finnick Odair." Cato appears out of nowhere, his eyes narrowed. Marvel stands up immediately, running off to Clove like a scared-out-of-his-shit puppy. Cato stares at me some more before yanking my arm again, bringing me to my feet.

"I can stand up on my own, you know." I glower at him, momentarily forgetting the 'budding romance' bullshit. He rolls his eyes, huffing out then turning his back on me. _That's it. _"What is your problem?" I sneer, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around to face me.

"My problem?" He lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Why, I'm honored I even got a sliver of your attention, since you seem to be so keen on showering Marvel with buckets of it."

Now he makes it sound like I'm some sort of a harlot. We haven't even made it through the first day yet, I wonder how long we'll last with this loveteam crap before it blows up on our faces.

I'm about to say how big of a dick he's being when Glimmer materializes on his side. "Hey, can you help me with the water barrels? Marvel's still with Clove and I can't lift them myself," she says, taking Cato's arm and leading him to where the barrels are. Cato gives me a lingering glance, indicating that this talk is not over. As they're walking away, Glimmer whips her head back and gives me the bitch stare. This time, I don't hesitate to give back one of my own.

* * *

By nightfall, we're almost finished sorting the supplies. I help Tamara prepare our meal while the others store away the last of our things that are scattered around. All the while, I catch Clove glancing at me repeatedly. Maybe she's making sure I won't poison her food.

Just as we're eating our dinner, the anthem plays and the death recaps begin. Marvel makes his commentaries regarding the fallen tributes' deaths, the others laughing loudly at his imitation of Caesar Flickerman. Anybody within a ten-mile radius can probably hear us. Not that my teammates care, anyway. We're the crème of the crop, and if somebody did hear us, they must've run like hell.

"So, Cato, do we hunt tonight?" Clove asks as she empties her bowl of soup.

"There's been enough blood for today, I say we take the night off and hunt tomorrow," Cato says. He's clearly the Alpha Male, the type that whenever he lays down the command, nobody dares question it.

So when he said we disregard the tents and we all sleep in the Cornucopia, no one begged to differ. It was, however, the sleeping arrangements where conflicts of interest arose.

"All right, guys. Let's settle this once and for all. Clove here doesn't want to be too close to Tamara. The feeling's mutual, I assume?" Marvel turns to Tamara, who merely affirms with a grunt. "And my lovely district partner Glimmer doesn't want to be next to me, though we all know it has nothing to do with my irresistible charms and she just wants to sleep next to Cato. So I suggest we go for Clove, Glimmer, Cato, Katniss, Me, and Tamara. All in favor?"

I can tell Cato's not very happy with this arrangement, but hearing no complaints from the rest of us, he just gives Marvel an affirmative nod and we all settle in for the night.

"Don't take this personally, but I'd really appreciate it if you keep your hands to yourself," Marvel whispers to me as he wedged his sleeping bag between mine and Tamara's.

"Fuck you," I spat.

"As tempting as that sounds, no way. Cato's going to kill me." He smirks. His eyes flit to Cato, who's scouting the camp one last time. I elbow him hard on the ribs, making his smirk grow even wider.

"You know, Cato's actually right. You really are a knock-off version of Finnick Odair," I say. Marvel isn't bad-looking, but he isn't that good-looking either. While his looks are somewhere around above average, it's his attitude that makes him likeable. Humor is his angle, and he's playing it well.

"Now, now. No need to be such a bitch, Fire Girl. You may not have noticed, but I find your company the least unpleasant among our comrades."

I take a moment to survey the rest of our team. Clove and her sadistic tendencies that are downright unnerving. Tamara, who just keeps to herself but is otherwise deadly when it comes down to it. And Glimmer, with her spider-monkey cling on Cato and her unyielding loathing for me. Putting myself in Marvel's shoes, I can see why he chose to stick with me. Although I'm the biggest killer here, I sure have the least bitch episodes and the most entertainment factor. Not that I'm proud of that or anything.

"Wow. Thank you for the backhanded compliment," I say, sliding inside my sleeping bag. Cato enters the Cornucopia, giving us a reluctant glance before his once again narrowed eyes focus on Marvel, daring him to make another move on me.

Marvel moves his sleeping bag away from mine, making sure to emphasize the now-considerable distance between us. Smirking, he tucks himself into his sleeping bag. "You are most welcome, love. Sleep tight."

* * *

"Katniss. Hey, wake up." Tamara's hushed voice reached my ears as I regain consciousness. Outside the safety of the Cornucopia, the arena is as still as lake water. Its predators—tributes and animals alike—are in their respective dens, waiting for their prey to make a mistake. Obviously I wouldn't be awake now if nobody did. The night's still deep, with the moon still illuminating the arena with its pale glow. Beside me, Marvel's trying to set his hair back to its rightful style, which turned into a disheveled mess. On my other side, Cato stirs as Tamara shakes his shoulder. His left arm is extended over to Glimmer, who uses it as some sort of pillow. I narrow my eyes at said arm. When Finnick and Haymitch got me to agree on this 'flirt or die trying' method, I think they forgot to tell me how to handle competition.

Something tells me I'm not handling it well at all.

Cato opens his eyes and sees me eyeing him suspiciously. He cocks an eyebrow at me, but I feel like ignoring him right now so I turn to Tamara instead.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I think I saw smoke out there." Tamara nods her head to the woods. If she's right, we might just have been in the arena with the biggest imbecile in the history of the Games. Whoever built a damn fire might as well have shown up in front of the Cornucopia, waved a red flag and yelled 'Come and get me!'

All of us are up and out of our sleeping bags in less than a minute. I look up the sky, searching for the telltale smoke that'd confirm the location of our prey. _Our prey. _I squirm inwardly. The more time I spend with the Careers, the more I start thinking like them.

After a few seconds, I spot it. All the way up to a valley-like terrain, the placid indigo of the midnight sky is stained by grayish wisps of smoke. I stop myself before I pinpoint it. Should I tell the others I saw it? Should I lead my ruthless teammates to a possibly helpless tribute? With years of hunting, I slowly came to recognize the disturbances the human presence brings to the woods. They might be Careers with unrelenting battle reflexes and deadly accuracy, but they're no hunters. They don't know when a certain place is marked.

"Well? Where is it?" Glimmer demanded.

"There." Tamara points at the general direction of the valley. "Can't you see it?"

"I won't be able to if there's nothing to see," Glimmer snaps. Bitch sounds more pissed than Clove when her kill was stolen.

"If you woke us up for nothing…" Clove says, crossing her arms. In her right hand dangles a gilded dagger, the same one Tamara used to kill the girl from Nine. If there really is nothing to see, Tamara's throat would be under that slightly curved, nefarious blade. Or her abdomen. Or her ears. Or her eyes. Whichever Clove wants to come off first.

"I see it," I say. I guess I should feel no remorse if it really is a tribute out there. Not to be a bitch or anything, but _come on_. If they're stupid enough to build a damn fire in the middle of the damn night, it's not my damn fault.

Cato draws out his sword from its sheath. "Grab your blades, guys. We're going hunting."

* * *

It took us around four hours of combined running and jogging to reach the girl. Curled up around her fire, she sleeps peacefully; her head cradled in her backpack while layers of pine needles serve as her cushion.

"Somebody's eager to die." Clove smirks, twisting a dagger between her fingers. This one's a silver number, slim and dainty, with swirling designs covering the blade. In a flick of her wrist the knife lodges to the ground, narrowly missing the tip of the girl's nose. Not that Clove missed, by the way. Knowing her, she purposely did that to frighten the girl awake.

Bolting up, our victim whips her head side to side looking for an escape. She's on the verge of crying now, her eyes brimming with tears. "You guys take care of her. Her stupidity might contaminate me," Clove says, chuckling as the girl goes down on her knees, pleading for her life.

Cato looks at each one of us. Seeing that no one's gonna step up and do it, he strides over to the girl. He hauls her up much like the way he did to me back at camp. This time, though, I hear the sickening swish of the blade as it pierces the girl's flesh. A tormented cry, followed by a meaty thud as her limp body collapses to the ground.

Clove picks up the dagger she threw minutes earlier. "Well.. that was more boring than I expected."

She kicks the girl's pack to Marvel's feet, who checks it for anything useful. He dumps out the contents before tossing the backpack to Glimmer. "Here you go, Glims. I heard you have a thing for pink." Glimmer's hesitant to take it, but catches it anyway.

Cato thinks we should go back to camp, seeing as dawn's already approaching and our supplies are left unguarded. I trail behind Glimmer, with Cato and Clove on the lead while Tamara and Marvel bring up the rear. We're about a few hundred yards away from the crime scene when Clove stops us.

"Girl's not dead yet," she says.

"She's dead. I struck her myself." Cato grits his teeth.

"I didn't hear a cannon," Clove argues. "As exciting as it'll be, I don't want to have to track her down twice."

"Let's just go back," Tamara suggests.

"_You_ go back," Glimmer snaps, crossing her arms. "It's quite a distance already."

"I'll come with you," I tell Tamara. There's enough bitchiness in this group. It needs a little benevolence.

"Oh, fuck it. You guys go on." Cato nods to the others, his exasperation eminent. "I started it, I'll finish it."

The rest of the team start heading back to camp as Cato makes his way back to the girl. Meanwhile, I stand there like a lost child. I'm pretty sure he didn't include me on that order.

As if to confirm my skepticism, he halts and turns to me. "Well? Are you coming or what?"

Marvel actually stops jogging and gives me a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. I roll my eyes at him, making him chuckle as he starts running again. Behind him, Glimmer throws me The Look, her green eyes glaring at me with a burning hatred. I would've returned it yet again, but for the audience's sake I stick my tongue out at her, turning my back and running up to Cato's side.

They want a good show out of me? I'll give them the best show they'll ever see.

* * *

**A/N: **Sooo... Comments? Questions? Suggestions? Violent reactions? Click that little blue button and let me know! =)**  
**


	6. Sink Into Me

**A/N: **As promised, Chapter 6 is now up! Once again I'm really, really sorry for the delayed update. I didn't die or anything, it's just that school started last June and I had little time to write (it's actually our midterms this week but WTH right update day is update day). Thank you, thank you to everybody who's been reviewing and giving their comments, suggestions and violent reactions! It was fun reading them :) Thank you for letting me know your opinions, please keep them coming!

Anons! Thank you for all your reviews, too. :) It's too bad that you don't have accounts so I can thank you personally, so I'll just put 'em here.

**Parris Monique Adele Silver** - Hi! I apologize if you didn't find the "Blondie" thing funny, but don't worry, there's a lot more about Glimmer that we don't know.. yet. I hope you'll stay tuned to find out what they are :)

**Priscilla X. Silver - **Thank you! It's such a shame that Finnick died, don't you think? I like his character a lot, too, that's why I really make an effort to include him in this story. :)

**IceIcePoison **- I still don't know if I the story will go on that direction.. but who knows? Thanks for the review!

**Guests**, **Alyssa** and **Loonyme** - Thank you so much for your reviews! Stay awesome! :)

There! :)) Anyways, on with the story. This one's pure Cato/Katniss, enjoy!

* * *

"You shouldn't have made me come with you if you're just going to act like I'm not even here," I tell Cato. It's becoming hard to consistently glower at his back; with the arduous task of climbing over boulders and the harsh midday sun beating down on us.

We were about only a quarter of a mile away from camp when we came across a stream. With the sweltering heat and our dangerously low water supply, it wasn't very had to lure us. The Gamemakers are making it difficult, though. Boulders as tall as Cato are blocking our path.

"As far as I can remember, you offered to accompany me in finishing that District Eight girl," he says, hauling himself over the last humongous boulder. He ended the girl's suffering fast and easy, puncturing her aorta with a needle-thin sword. It only took her four heartbeats before her cannon sounded.

Cato lands on his feet with a soft thud, something you wouldn't expect from somebody his size. "Or have you forgotten because you're too busy blowing Marvel a goodbye kiss?"

"As far as _I _can remember, it's Tamara I offered my company to. And I didn't blow Marvel a kiss. Maybe you were too busy doing just that to Glimmer that you start seeing things." I reach the top of the boulder, pulling myself in a sitting position as I prepare for the jump. Cato surprises me by grabbing both sides of my waist and helping me down.

"_Maybe_ I was doing just that to make you jealous," he says. "With that look on your face right now, it seems to be working."

It takes all of my resolve not to punch him right then and there. I turn my back on him, my braid flying in an arc behind me. He just stands there, smirking and feeling very proud of himself. I keep walking, farther down the stream and ignoring Cato as he calls out my name. There's no humor in his voice now, I can picture the way his stupid smirk vanished from his face when he realized I'm seriously pissed.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm pissed._ What am I so angry about?_ Cato accusing me of flirting with Marvel? Glimmer throwing herself at Cato? Or Cato telling me things I don't want to hear?

Somehow it all goes back to Cato. Damn him and that omnipresent smirk of his. I repeat what he said to me in my head, over and over again till the words lost their meanings._ Maybe I was doing just that to make you jealous. With that look on your face right now, it seems to be working._

Well, I'm not jealous. Why should I be?

The Games is one thing, but this.. _thing_ I have with Cato is another. While I'm doing this for the sole purpose of surviving, it's starting to mess with my mind. I don't know what this is that we have. Sure, we both know we have to play this game, but we never officially confirmed it as one. We just got on with it without a word. A game with no rules. Maybe this is what he wants to happen all along.

My foot catches on a rock, making me fall on my hands and knees. There's something peculiar about this muddy strip of bank. The earth doesn't feel so coarse underneath my fingertips, the foliage of the nearby bushes a bit too ruffled. Wait, that's no ordinary rock I tripped into.

I wipe the mud from the said rock, rewarded by the supple leather of a boot. I hear a gasp from my left. Bright blue eyes appear from the side of a boulder, and I have to stifle my own yelp when it all falls into place.

The stream. The camouflage. The blue eyes.

"Peeta?" I breathe out, my surprise and amazement taking over me.

Peeta grins, a hint of his white teeth contrasting with the mud that covers the rest of his body. He whispers back, "Hello to you too, sweetheart; though I can't exactly say I'm happy to see you right n—"

"Katniss?" Cato yells, his footsteps getting louder and louder. I try my best to calm down, steeling myself for the cameras. If I want to get out of this alive, I'm going to have to be a better actress.

Peeta clamps his mouth shut, closing his eyes and disappearing in the midst of the earth once again. I get a few good feet away from him before Cato stops in front of me.

"What?" I say, crossing my arms.

Cato searches for something to say. I almost feel bad for him; he's absolutely hopeless when it comes to acts of contrition.

"I was just telling the truth," he says. Does that count as an apology? A plain old _I'm Sorry _would've done the trick.

Thunder rolls from above. Rain starts to fall, and although it's just a drizzle, it's certainly enough to blow Peeta's cover.

The Gamemakers are obviously forcing a confrontation among the three of us. Seems like they're aching to see where my true loyalties lie: my team, or my district? If I go to Peeta's side, I'd be throwing away every sappy crap Cato and I built. If there's anything we managed to establish, really. But if I fight alongside Cato, what will District Twelve think of me? What will Gale and Prim feel? It's bad enough that I teamed up with the Careers and killed my fair share of innocent children, adding Peeta to that list will make me an outcast in my own district. Who kills their district partner for the sake of staying alive a little longer? I shake the foul thoughts away from my mind, even physically shaking my head to get a hold of myself. _No._ I will not give them the satisfaction of witnessing a fight among us. Not today.

So I stomp away, going farther downstream and praying to whoever it is up there that Cato will follow me. I know I can't protect Peeta forever, but I don't what to see him die. Especially not at the hands of the Career I'm currently travelling with. The rain starts to fall harder and I quicken my pace, crossing the stream at its bend where the boulders are large and flat enough to walk on.

As my feet touch the bank, Cato catches up to me, his long strides corresponding to two of mine. In no time at all, he's standing two paces ahead of me and blocking my way. I roll my eyes, balling my fists to hide the fact that they're shaking like crazy. I don't know if it's from my unreasonable anger at Cato or if it's because of how close I just was in having to kill another person again. Maybe a combination of both.

"What, are we going to play chase till we get back to camp?" Cato says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Honestly, Cato, I don't know what kind of game we're playing," I say, looking straight in his eyes. I know he caught on the pun of my statement, because his expression darkens ever so slightly before returning to his cool, arrogant mask.

Before he can say anything, the rain becomes a full-blown downpour, each big, fat drop hitting my skin like teensy little needles. Cato curses aloud, but it was lost in the heavy drumming of the cloudburst around us. We move ahead, following the bend where another stack of boulders form a barrier between the forest and the water, the rocks forming cave-like structures.

If climbing over midget mountains while baking in the sun is hard, hiking them while it's raining buckets is an entirely different matter. I slip a few times, and if Cato isn't beside me I would've smashed my head against the stupid rocks. After what seemed like ten or fifteen years, we finally make it to a decent cave. Wedged between two high boulders, the mouth of the cavern is thankfully dry. Once inside, I let go of all my belongings, resting my back against the smooth cave wall and sliding down till I'm in a sitting position. Cato stands across me, leaning on the opposite wall.

"The Gamemakers just love us so much, don't they?" He runs a hand through his hair, droplets of water clinging to his fingers. "They saw we were thirsty, so they gave us so much water we almost drowned."

I throw my drenched jacket on the cave floor. "If I ever encounter another big ass boulder again, I'm going to blow it up till it's no more than a mere heap of rubble and ashes."

"You're fascinating when you're irritated." He chuckles. "Your word selection becomes colorful."

I would've bit back a response, but my teeth are starting to chatter. I think my retort wouldn't have the desired effect if I sound like I've been dipped in ice. The temperature seems to have halved in the past ten minutes, give it another five and I bet we'll be freezing off our asses.

Building a fire is out of the question since we don't have wood or anything else to set on fire. I try to think of something, anything to ease the cold that's creeping up on me. I stretch out my legs, my right foot bumping against my pack. I stare at the ugly orange backpack. Why the hell did I choose an orange backpack? Anybody can spot it a mile away.

A beacon of salvation comes to my mind.

"The sleeping bags," I whisper.

"What?"

"The sleeping bags. They reflect body heat, right? They'll keep us warm enough." I yank the sleeping bag out of my pack, laying it on the cave floor. "Where's yours?"

"I didn't bring one," Cato says.

"You didn't bring a sleeping bag?" Disbelief and frustration washes over me. "Of all the things you could have forgotten to pack, it just had to be a sleeping bag."

"I didn't know I'm going to be stuck in a cold, wet cave."

"Neither did I, but I still had the sense to pack a damn sleeping bag," I snap.

He crosses his arms, trying to hide the shivers going through him. If there's one thing I'm positive will kill Cato in this bullshit arena, it's his pride. He doesn't know how to apologize or to ask for help. He's violent and ill-tempered and arrogant and he irritates me to no end.

Okay, I may be violent and ill-tempered too, but I'm not heartless.

"Let's just share," I tell him.

See? I'm not heartless. The Gamemakers are pushing me to my limits, and though their chosen method is a bit unoriginal, it's effective. Very effective. I let out a defeated sigh. _Just look on the __bright side, Katniss_. _You're giving everybody one hell of a show._

I look back up at Cato, who tosses his jacket next to mine and starts to take off his shirt, too. I'm not going to go into the details, let's just say I momentarily stop freezing at the sight before me.

Okay, I've seen shirtless men before, but there's something insanely uncomfortable about Cato standing bare-chested in front of me. Unlike the rest of my family who don't even flinch at stark naked patients lying on our kitchen table, I've always been uncomfortable with seeing more of people's skin than necessary. Gale practically saunters around the woods half naked during summer just to annoy me.

"Don't look at me like that, Girl on Fire. You're making me conscious." Cato's smirk turns into a fey, provocative smile.

"Don't flatter yourself, von Bleicken," I say, borrowing Haymitch's words. I would normally avoid doing that at all costs, but the need to deflate Cato's ego is consuming.

I get my extra shirt and pants from my bag and walk to the other end of the cave, the darkness concealing me as I get out of my sodden clothes. I just finished fastening my mockingjay pin on my shirt when Cato speaks again.

"Go on, then. Lie to yourself." Really, I can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Arrogant ass," I grumble under my breath. I step back into the light, flinging my wet clothes to the pile near Cato's feet and making my way to our sleeping bag to unzip it.

Well, _my_ sleeping bag that I'm kind enough to share with Cato.

Anyway, it takes a few yanks and a round of curses before I finally unzip the sleeping bag. Immediate warmth envelops me as I slide in, soothing my icy skin. I scoot over to one side, a blush staining my cheeks. I've never been in this close proximity to a boy, especially a half-naked boy. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, only opening them when I hear Cato zipping up the bag.

"That's better," he sighs. The shivers racking his body gradually slow down till they stop altogether. Soon enough, the sound of chattering teeth is replaced by an awkward hush. It's deafening, pressing down on me like a tangible weight.

"So.. what now?" I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Cato turns to look at me, the provocative smile back on his features. "I don't know. What do you have in mind?" He must be feeling a tad better if he can mock me like this.

"I'm serious, Cato." I slap his arm.

"Well.. I think we should wait the storm out," he says, earning a well-deserved eye-roll from me for stating the damn obvious. "And while we're at it, I think we should try getting to know each other."

Oh, right. We're supposed to be attracted to one another. Ugh. With a storm like this, I bet there's not even a single drop of blood shed today except that of the District Eight girl. Cato and I are probably the only entertainment going on right now.

"Okay," I say, turning my body to face him. "What do you want to know?"

He brings up his right hand and I freeze. His fingers stroke the mockingjay on my pin. "This is your token, right?"

I let go of the air I'm not even aware of holding. I've been doing a lot of breath-holding ever since I met Cato. If this goes on, I might start having asthma attacks or something. "My friend Madge gave it to me before I was taken to the Capitol. She's the mayor's daughter. Kind and timid and quiet. She's actually the only gal pal I have."

"You're that bad?" Cato says, a surprised expression plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry?" I find the genuineness of his astonishment somewhat irritating.

"What I mean is, that's it? You're okay with just one friend? How did you survive?"

"I have friends!" I say. "And contrary to what you believe, it isn't actually that bad. Better to have a few friends who are loyal rather than a lot who will just stab you in the back."

"Oh yeah? Name your other friends, then." He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Gale," I say almost immediately. "And Delly. And Peeta."

"You said in your interview that you weren't really close to Peeta until the Reaping. And this Delly.. you didn't even mention her." His mocking expression fades, replaced by insistent curiosity.

Annoying as he is, Cato never fails to surprise me. That tidbit about Peeta and my other so-called friends was mentioned in passing during my interview, I wouldn't even remember it if he didn't bring it up. The amount of attention he's been paying is kind of unsettling, yet flattering at the same time.

"Gale.. is he the one who pulled your sister off of you at the Reaping?" he says.

"Yeah, that's him. He's my best friend. We've been helping our mothers to support our families for years now. He always got my back, like I always got his."

"You have a very serious.. friendship." He furrows his brows, looking at the cave wall over my shoulder.

"It's not like that. We're cousins." Gale's too handsome, too manly to be just a friend. People from the Seam have the same physical characteristics. I hope our dark hair, olive skin and gray eyes will be enough to convince everybody of the lie I just stated.

"Oh," Cato says. Is that relief that just crossed his features? No. It can't be. He's just a good actor.

"What about you? What's your token?" I ask. Aside from Glimmer's, I've never seen or known the other tributes' district tokens.

Cato leans down to dig around in his pocket. Seconds later, he pulls out a watch. Black leather straps held together by a round, silver timepiece. He holds it out to me. "That's from my cousin, Jeremy. It's the only thing he has from his late father, but he still gave it to me. Said he believes in me, that he knows I'll win so he doesn't worry about getting his watch back."

We talk all throughout the morning. He told me about his family and his friends and his home, and I did the same. I thought I'd feel more homesick, but talking about home actually helped. Especially when the one you're talking to is going through the same thing. For a moment, I almost forgot I'm in the Games.

* * *

The sweat drying on my skin slowly pulls me out of my slumber.

I lie on my back—or at least I try to—since Cato hogged every inch of the sleeping bag. His chest is pressed against my back, the heat coming off his bare skin searing me.

"Cato," I whisper, trying to wake him up. His breathing is slow and even, tickling the he hairs on the back of my neck.

Dear Gawd.

"Cato, hey," I say, louder this time, shaking his forearm—the one draped around my waist—harder.

After a few minutes of shaking him earthquake-level, I realize there's no point in trying to wake him while he's sleeping like a newborn baby. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, my elbow lightly hitting his jaw. He stirs and pulls me closer to him. There's not an inch between our bodies now, and pressing against my lower back is his…

You know.

Mortified, I trash under the covers. I almost rip the sleeping bag open trying to get out, my foot landing a good one on Cato's shin.

"What the..?" He bolts up, sword in hand, wide eyes scanning the cave for any possible dangers. "What happened?"

Suddenly I feel scared of Cato, my fear replacing my embarrassment. The way he turns from a sleeping baby to a battle-ready warrior in three seconds flat has me trembling inside.

"You're difficult to wake up," I mumble.

"So you had to physically assault me." He runs a hand through his hair, his lips forming into a pout.

"You were making me… uncomfortable." I drop my gaze to the floor, heat creeping up on my cheeks. I bet I'm glowing like a lamp.

"Oh," Cato says as it hits him. "Sorry."

We stand there in silence, looking at anything but each other. The mutual feeling of awkwardness hangs in the air, choking me.

"Yeah.. It's okay.. uhm.. I'll go scout the place out." I pick up my bow and arrows, tripping over the basket from last night's meal in my hurry. I stand up with every ounce of dignity I can still manage and step out of the cave.

The early morning mist wakes my sense up, rejuvenating me. Out here, there's no evidence that the storm even happened. The sky is clear and bright, the stream back on its current flow. Good. I could use a cool splash.

Finally alone with my thoughts, the forest comes alive with sound. Here and there I'd hear the scurry of little feet bustling through the bushes. Once, I even saw a rabbit make a beeline for the trees. I won't have any problems hunting today.

And I probably need to hunt, too, since Cato and I wiped out every bit of the meal that was sent yesterday. It was good for six people: a whole tray of lasagna, a couple of club sandwiches, a thermos of warm peppermint tea, and best of all, a big bowl of mouthwatering lamb stew, complete with dried plums and wild rice. The parachute came down around lunch, and by dinner, everything was picked clean.

The food might have disappeared fast, but Haymitch's message stayed intact in my mind. _Good job, Sweetheart. Keep it up. _I can almost hear his voice, deep and grumpy, a thumbs-up sign in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. The timing of the gift is just too exact to be a coincidence.

Another series of scurrying makes me halt my movements. Slowly, I pick up my bow and stride towards the forest.

After a few attempts, I'm successful in taking out two rabbits. I'm on my way back when I hear a rustle. I instinctively send an arrow flying, and for the first time in my life I'm thankful I misjudged the location of a target.

"What the hell?!" I say as I lower my bow. The arrow I fired sits stuck on an oak tree, still quivering from the impact of the hit.

"You were gone for almost an hour," Cato says, brushing non-existent dirt from his shirt.

"Well next time don't sneak up on me like that. Geez."

I move closer to him and slip my backpack off his shoulder. "I was worried," he says, his eyes boring into mine. There's that intensity in them again, immobilizing me.

"We should probably start skinning the rabbits." I slip my pack over my shoulder, stepping away from Cato. Haymitch probably wants to wring my neck now for letting such a good love-crap opportunity pass, but I don't care. Cato's good, _way_ too good at making people believe this is real. The only bad part? I'm close to believing him, too.

* * *

We make a decent breakfast out of the rabbits. It's not as good as yesterday's meal, but it gave us enough staying power. We only stopped trekking twice: to drink water and to take down a groosling that we happened to come across. Cato's still a bit queasy about the idea of having it for lunch, but then, meat is meat.

We're almost at the clearing now, at a copse facing the right side of the Cornucopia. From this spot, I can make out Clove's petite form, hurling knives at a makeshift dummy. Marvel and Tamara are nowhere in sight.

"Looks like we're not the only ones who enjoyed the little holiday," Cato murmurs beside me. I follow his line of vision only to find Glimmer, lying on the shores of the lake in her undergarments, basking in the sun with her head tipped back.

"Who told you I enjoyed being stuck in that cave with you?" I snap. Through the rest of our journey, I kept him at arm's length. It's probably counterproductive for our so-called romance, but if I didn't get any breathing space I might start exploding. Like now.

"Don't give me that jealous look." Instead of going into fight mode, Cato just smirks at me. It just made me more irritated.

"I'm not jealous!"

"Yes. You. Are."

"Seriously, I'm not. Especially not of Blondie."

"What is it with Glimmer's hair that you're so pissed at?"

_What?_ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on. Half of the people you know have hair like hers. Why do you specifically hate her hair so much?"

"I don't hate her hair. It's just too.. blonde. And silky and lush.." I trail off.

"So you're jealous of her hair." Cato says, biting his bottom lip in an effort to hide his smirk.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are." He takes a step closer to me. "Man, you have a lot of hair issues. But don't worry, I prefer brunettes. Although blondes will always hold a special place in my heart." His eyes take on a dangerous glint; challenging me, provoking me. Everything about his demeanor—those eyes, that smirk, the way he's leaning into me—screams the words _Your turn _at me.

I've never been good with words; that's Peeta's forte. I'm more of a woman of action. Though Cato's not very witty either, he certainly has a way with taunting people with words. I know I can't beat him in a verbal battle, so I do the only thing I can to shut him up.

I kiss him.

* * *

**A/N: **Sooo.. shall we continue? Let me know!


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